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Leo Tolstoy’s novel Anna Karenina is a masterpiece. It has never been out of print. Luminaries from William Faulkner to Jilly Cooper have remarked on its brilliance. It is usually within the top 10 of any list of the “100 books you simply must read before you die”. However, I would argue that it’s a singularly poor choice of a book to bring with you for 10 days on the beach in Tenerife. Especially in hardback.

I really tried. Every day, I’d read two or three pages before realising I’d read the same pages the day before, and it simply hadn’t stuck. I kept drifting off during the more complex descriptions of 19th-century property law. I simply couldn’t see what Anna saw in Vronsky; he seemed dreadful, just a slightly different kind of dreadful from her husband, Karenin. My arms ached, the sand seemed unusually gritty, and on day four, as children shrieked and splashed around me, their parents read Jack Reacher books while I failed to understand the significance of Levin scything his fields, I thought, ‘No more!’ My luggage allowance was about 20kg. Tolstoy had taken up more than a tenth of it, and 100% of my headspace. I couldn’t relax. I wasn’t enjoying myself. When I found a Sophie Kinsella novel in the hotel gift shop, I almost wept with relief. It didn’t matter that I’d already read The Undomestic Goddess – my aching brain craved comfort and joy, and it simply wasn’t finding it on Russian railway lines.

As an author and a reader, it makes me sad that “beach read” has become a pejorative term. In my book Read Yourself Happy, I investigate the enormous positive impact that reading has on our wellbeing – and I discover that we can only experience the benefits of books if we’re enjoying what we’re reading. I believe that any reading we do is good for us, if it captures our attention and stimulates our imagination. The results of a 2016 Yale University study demonstrated that readers of books tend to live longer; another, published by the National Library of Medicine in 2020, showed that reading wards off cognitive decline.

But studies also show that fewer children and adults are reading for pleasure. A 2024 survey from the Reading Agency found that 35% of us used to read for fun, but we’ve let the habit lapse. It’s understandable, because it’s incredibly difficult to cultivate a reading habit in the 21st century. We all think we “should” read, in the way we think we “should” do more exercise. We put it off. We pick up our phones and wish we could put them down again. It’s very hard for books to compete with our phones, because books don’t tend to light up, or vibrate, or flash with notifications. Books haven’t been designed to be addictive.

We plan to read when we have some free time. Eventually we go on holiday and promise ourselves that we’ll tackle some serious Russian literature, or we bring the Booker winner with us. And we struggle to concentrate and connect with the story because we’re not used to using our reading muscles. We long to pick up our phones and scroll instead. We feel angry with ourselves, and we resent the books. Reading feels like a chore, and we don’t feel as though we’re having the relaxing, reviving, nourishing holiday that we need.

After my failed attempt to read Anna Karenina, I vowed to prioritise pleasure when choosing my holiday reading, jettisoning anything that felt too much like holiday homework. And I started to notice some surprising changes. First, I started to relax much more quickly. I didn’t waste the first two days in a state of anxious agitation, struggling to switch off. In the past, I’d felt fidgety and restless when I was lying by the pool. However, when I found a book I loved, I lay with purpose.

My sleep seemed to improve. I felt calmer and more grounded. It changed my focus, too. When I wasn’t reading, I felt more present – I was better at listening to conversations and paying attention. During day trips, I didn’t have the urge to scroll through my phone seeking out recommendations for better restaurant options or nicer beaches. I didn’t have the same irritable holiday squabbles with my husband. This was partly because I felt happy and relaxed, and partly because most of those squabbles are about missing phone chargers and power adaptors. Reading was reducing my screen time, and I wasn’t draining my phone battery.

Most importantly, reading for pleasure made me feel that I’d benefited from the holiday. We go away because we need to relax and recharge. A holiday is supposed to have health benefits. And reading might be the magical secret that ensures we feel those benefits. It’s one way to truly get away from it all. It’s easy to dismiss “fun” summer books: because they are so easy to read, critics (wrongly) assume that they must be easy to write. But in a world where everything can feel very difficult, easy books are more valid and valuable than ever. They bring us lasting, nourishing pleasure.

Sarah Maxwell, the founder of the UK’s first romance-only bookstore, Saucy Books, says that this summer the shop will be celebrating and focusing on beach reads. She says: “A so-called ‘beach read’ can often reach places a serious book can’t – especially when we’re craving ease, escape or a dose of delight. Summer is a time to recharge, and reading for pleasure is one of the simplest, most nourishing ways to reconnect with yourself.”

So when you’re packing for your holiday, and fretting about reading the books that will impress your friends and intimidate your enemies, why not try to give yourself “a dose of delight”? If you’d like to get the most from your time away, and read yourself happy, here are some suggestions.

It sounds counterintuitive, but it might be worth bringing a book that you’ve already read. When I’m especially stressed, or struggling with anxiety, I bring one that I know I love. I find rereading very comforting, and sometimes I need to warm up with something familiar and remind myself that sitting down with a book feels good. It takes the pressure off the reading experience – and it feels like being reunited with old, beloved friends. If the idea of rereading an old book doesn’t appeal, look for a book by a writer you’ve enjoyed before, or something from a series of books. (You can’t go wrong with Poirot or Miss Marple.)

Sometimes I start my holiday reading before I go on holiday. In the run-up to a trip, it feels as though there’s never enough time to pack, clear my desk and do my laundry – but if I try to read a few pages every day, I feel the benefits as soon as I arrive. It can take a couple of chapters to get into a book, and it’s difficult to focus in a new environment, even if it’s supposed to be a relaxing space. But if I’m already invested in the narrative, I’m excited about picking it up as soon as I arrive. (And if I have been reading on the plane or train, I find the arrival process – waiting for luggage and going through passport control – a lot less stressful.)

If I’m going on holiday with friends or family, I’ll suggest we share and swap our books. That way, we can maximise our luggage allowance, and avoid a situation in which we have eight copies of We Solve Murders and All Fours between us. One of my favourite holidays was a trip to France with my sisters, where we all took it in turns to read The Disaster Artist – Greg Sestero and Tom Bissell’s wild account of working with Tommy Wiseau on The Room (“the greatest bad movie ever made”). Of course, remember not to bring a prized first edition. Take a book that can be replaced if the worst happens. When books are being read and thoroughly enjoyed on holiday, they risk being dropped in the pool or covered in sun cream.

Perhaps the most important piece of holiday advice is this: if you don’t like the book you’re reading, you don’t have to finish it. Be fair to yourself, and fair to the book. Holidays are supposed to be relaxing and enjoyable. For example, if you work for Nasa and you’re taking a break from a stressful workplace, you might feel tense and triggered after three chapters of Atmosphere, Taylor Jenkins Reid’s new astronaut novel. Reading is a subjective experience. I will rarely give up on a book – but I often pick up a book and put it down again, realising I need to be in a better mood to get the best from it. And sometimes, changing to a more fun book is all it takes to put me in that better mood.

I returned to Anna Karenina eventually. It took me a few years to do so – and I spent that time building up my reading muscles. I read it for pleasure, and by the time I was ready, my appetite for pleasure had become much broader. I didn’t need to learn how to read; I needed to learn to love to read again. It was that Sophie Kinsella book that reminded me of the power of brilliant storytelling. The experience of losing myself in the novel was delicious, and it made me greedy for more. Reading for the sheer fun of it fills up my emotional tank and gives me the strength to attempt “challenging” books. Maybe even more importantly, they also give me the strength to deal with challenging real-life situations. When I’m cheerfully immersing myself in a series of happily-ever-afters, I feel more optimistic and positive. I see the best in people, and I’m kinder and more patient. Life starts to imitate art.

Reading always leaves me feeling better and calmer. I never regret picking up a book, and I’m so grateful to have discovered a hobby that makes me happy, as well as making me feel as though I’m on holiday. It’s good to keep the holiday vibes alive and kicking on a dark, rainy Saturday afternoon in November. And I’m confident that reading for pleasure this summer will ensure you have a better time on the beach. But I suspect the benefits will outlast the trip, too. My holiday reading romance has been going on for years, and rediscovering my passion for romcoms made me realise that books had been my true love all along.

Books for reading yourself happy on holiday